


Captain

by Coffee_Flavored_Kisses



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Johnlock - Freeform, Love, M/M, Male Homosexuality, captain!john
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-22
Updated: 2014-01-22
Packaged: 2018-01-09 15:22:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1147573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Coffee_Flavored_Kisses/pseuds/Coffee_Flavored_Kisses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt from anon on Tumblr: Sherlock goes snooping through John's room and finds his military uniform and dog tags. Have fun darling!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Captain

**Author's Note:**

> Captain!John for those of you who, like me, enjoy that sort of thing. Enjoy!

_Laptop, laptop, laptop._  
Sherlock knew the damned thing was around somewhere. He could have used his own, of course, but John’s was so much faster, so much easier to maneuver, and besides… Sherlock wasn’t entirely sure where his was.  
He wouldn’t normally have been bothered enough to go all the way upstairs to look for it, but now it bothered him more that he couldn’t find it than whatever it was that he had needed it for in the first place.  
He could have called John, but he knew what that would do. John would only shout about how Sherlock needed to mind his own business, how Sherlock should stay out of his old bedroom, how they needed to trust each other now that they were a couple. No, if Sherlock was going to find it, he would have to do so without any help from John.  
There weren’t too many places it could be hiding. John had always kept his room so impeccably clean and orderly (another army habit, no doubt), but there was still room under the bed or in the closet, if John really wanted to hide something.  
He knelt down beside the bed and reached his arm underneath as far as he could (a considerable distance). All he could find there were a couple of suitcases and a file folder.  
Immunization records. Boring.  
He moved over to the closet, and determined that the most likely place for a computer would be toward the back in that little shelf that a stranger would never know was there. He pulled back all the suits hanging inside.  
“He never even wears suits,” he mumbled to himself. Though the thought of John in a suit, he had to admit, was an intriguing thought indeed.  
He reached his arm deeper inside and pulled back the last suit. But this one was different. This one… was special.  
Crisp blue trousers with a red stripe along the sides, clean jacket, heavily decorated in the manner of a war hero, beret, belt… this was a captain’s uniform. This was John’s uniform.  
He had forgotten all about the laptop at this point. Pulling the uniform from the closet, he admired how it had been kept, as if John still occasionally removed it and perhaps polished the brass pieces and straightened out the shoulder pads. And on the neck of the hanger hung his dogtags.

Captain John H. Watson

The way the name shone against the glare from the window struck Sherlock in a way few things did. It was almost romantic, in a way, though Sherlock refused to believe that could be a thought he was capable of acknowledging. A smile crept along his lips as he rubbed his thumb along the metal, and he must have sat there for a very long time because before he realized it, John was standing in the threshold.  
“Sherlock, I was calling you.”  
He tried to answer, but he could see the ire growing in John’s eyes.  
“Sherlock, what are you doing with my uniform?”  
“I… was looking for your laptop.”  
“It’s in the kitchen. What are you doing with my uniform?”  
“I looked in the kitchen.”  
“Well you didn’t look hard enough. What are you doing with my uniform?”  
“I found it in the closet.”  
“Put it back in the closet.”  
“Why have I never seen you wear this? You know, I think it would please me to see you wearing this.”  
“Sherlock, I put that life behind me. I don’t wear that because I have no reason to.”  
“I’m asking you to wear it for me. I’d like to see you in this.”  
“Sherlock, no. I doubt it even fits me anymore.” He approached Sherlock and grabbed the clothes, hanging them meticulously in its place once more.  
“You’ve tried it on more than once since you’ve lived here,” he told him. “You take it out fairly regularly and straighten it out, and you polish--”  
“I should have known better than to lie to you,” John interrupted. “Can you let it go, Sherlock?”  
“You’re upset that I found it?”  
“I’m upset that you’re looking through my things! I thought we were in a good place!”  
“In a good place…” Sherlock laughed. “Such a cliché term. What does it even mean?”  
“It means you trust me enough not to look through my things, and that if you want to borrow my laptop, you ask me. That’s what it means.”  
“Oh, John. Lighten up.”  
“Lighten up? Lighten up?” John paced a little in anger. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave, Sherlock. I need to be alone in my room.”  
“Your room?” he asked. “This isn’t your room anymore.”  
“It’s my room when I’m sore with you!” he retorted. “Which is now, and which is an awful lot lately! Now go!”  
Sherlock knew better than to argue further. He’d learned a lot in their time together, and perhaps the most important thing he’d learned was that John needed to be alone when he was angry, and that he would, inevitably, get over it and return to their common space and resume their happy relationship.  
But to his surprise, an hour passed, then two, then three, and Sherlock hadn’t heard a thing from his friend upstairs.  
He reached into his pocket and pulled out the dogtags. He had considered that John might be angry at him for holding on to them, but he couldn’t resist. He wished he could put into words just how they made him feel, but for once in his life, all the brilliance and all the wisdom and all the vast knowledge of all things practical could not suffice to explain the feeling inside him when he felt the cold metal of his lover’s name against his skin. He slipped the chain over his head and held it there, caressing the name softly without even thinking about his actions. He only knew that it helped calm him, rather than allow him to wonder how long John would be angry with him.  
Finally he heard the creak of the steps, and he stood to face John as he arrived on the middle floor. And there he stood, Captain John Hamish Watson, in full army uniform, grave expression on his face, his very presence demanding the attention of all around.  
Fortunately for both of them, Sherlock was the only one there.  
“Captain,” Sherlock breathed, almost inaudibly.  
“Mr. Holmes,” John answered, standing as tall as he ever could.  
“You…” Sherlock tried to speak, but goddammit, how could he? “I…”  
“Holmes, I’m going to need you to report to the bedroom immediately.”  
“Yes, sir,” he answered. But somehow, he was frozen in place. He couldn’t look away, let along walk.  
“Holmes, are those my dogtags?” He stepped closer, reached his hand forward, and pulled at the chain gently until Sherlock’s head was bowed just enough for their eyes to meet.  
“Um… I, uh…”  
“We’ll talk about this later,” he said. He wrapped the chain around his fingers, curling it through, over and over, and Sherlock’s lips were now settled just in front of John’s. He could feel the captain’s breath on his lips, his chin, his neck, and the desire to take him down then and there was almost too much to resist.  
“Bedroom, Holmes,” John repeated. “Now. That’s an order.”  
“Yes, Captain,” Sherlock smiled.


End file.
